We are the RiverThe river is languorousbecause we want the riverto be languorous. The western boundary ofour city, muddy andalmost indistinct. Wavy, like old TV.We don’t want sharp edges. We don’t wantto know where we stop.
Where we is no longer we.

More LifeIn the house of unrecorded poemsI have a room with an Eastern view. In the morning it is simple to makeup my bed. In the evening I tendthe metaphor which squats by myside and tells my anima what to dream.

KeysHer nails were scarlet. Her sins were read. I met her among others. She shone like a lamp. I moved so close thatour eyes saw the same thing.I took her home andshe took me home. It’s that kind of story. You’veheard it all before. There is an ending but younever get there. There are places where youget lost. Me, too. And she, too, you know, thewoman from the party, theone who still jingles your keys.

BibleI only want this poemto undo your eyelidsthe way the dawnburns through a prayer. I spoke a few terms toyou, back when thewaters were rising. Andyou told me wordsare corrupted by ice.So it took me ten yearsto carve this reply. Ionly want it to open yourdepth the way that prayerburns through the dumb,the bible we wanted towrite so we could inhabit it.

Enlargement

When I was a childI had a little brain,a little heart,a little penis. Mymind told me hurtfulthings becausemy mind was little andbecause it wasparroting others. I ambigger now andmy mind has expanded.My heart has ex-panded. They told me this morningthat I could write this poem.